Genius or Madness?
by bekahbert
Summary: John and Sherlock's first adventure as flatmates. Will they be able to adjust to living together with their vastly different personalities? Lestrade and Mycroft will also be big parts of this story. Female Sherlock, slightly OOC.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Lestrade, good, you're here," said Sherlock breathlessly.

"Well, this is my apartment Sherlock. It's two in the morning. Honestly, why couldn't you just call me tomorrow? Or at least one knock like a normal person." he replied. If he wasn't so used to Sherlock breaking into his flat at all hours of the night he would have been terrified to see the thin figure approaching his doorway. Instead, he just sighed resignedly and changed his tactic. "Fine. What is it that couldn't wait till a decent hour?"

"That is rather subjective, Lestrade. I don't believe that logically, any hour is more decent than another. Perhaps if you factor in the..."

"Uggghhh," Lestrade groaned loudly, pulling the covers over his head. "Just tell me what you want from me, Holmes, so I can go to sleep. I have to work tomorrow, you know."

"Fine, Lestrade. I have the perpetrator detained in my bedroom, and I would like you to come and arrest him."

Realization hit Lestrade. The suspect: expert at breaking and entering, forced the victims to write suicide notes before hanging them, then took a picture of the crime scene and put inside the mail box for the letter carrier to find. "So you went out and got the suspect, was he at the shop you suspected? Why didn't you just wait until morning when I could go with you and make the arrest as planned?" he asked, annoyed once he realized this could have been avoided.

Sherlock flipped on the light and stepped closer to the DI's bed. Lestrade sat up, blinked as his eyes adjusted and gasped. "Actually, I caught the man red handed. Turns out he holds a gun to the victim's heads while they write the note and makes them hang themselves after they write it."

Sherlock's face was bruised and Lestrade could tell that her nose had been bleeding. "Are you alright, Sherlock?" he asked with some concern. He knew that the tall thin woman was not to be underestimated, but she also had been on this case for three days and had most likely not slept or eaten during that time.

"It was simple." she continued, ignoring the question about her welfare. Why would Lestrade want to hear about such a trivial thing when she had SOLVED it? "He entered through my open window and I let him nearly complete the crime, to collect data of course. He held the gun to my head and made me tie my own noose, also. He threatened to "kill my mother" which means he must have also been spying on me and seen me talking to Mrs. Hudson. Anyway, this must have been how he forced the others to do it. Threatening families and whatnot. then he led me into my bathroom and made me tie the rope with the noose onto the shower curtain. This was foolish, any idiot could see that my shower curtain is hollow and therefore would not bear my weight. Then he made me write my suicide letter, which I took my time on to distract him. He didn't feel particularly threatened by me, since I am a woman, so after awhile he stopped watching and I took this opportunity to jump him. He got a couple of good punches in before knocked him unconscious and bound him with the rope from my noose. I have calculated that he will wake up in about twenty three minutes so we really should be leaving soon to arrest him."

Lestrade, awoken by her story stood and motioned for her to leave the room so he could change. In a minute he was out and he grabbed his handcuffs, gun and keys and headed out the door, Sherlock at his heels. "So where is your cab, Sherlock?" he asked when they had gotten to the sidewalk.

"Oh, I didn't take one." She answered.

"Really Sherlock? At two in the morning, injured, after not eating or sleeping for three days, you walk the three and a half miles to my flat through these dodgy neighborhoods?" he asked, full lecture mode coming on as he led her towards the police cruiser. "I have seen so many terrible things happen to people like you. I know that you are above average in strength and self defense skills, but if you were jumped by a group of people, or if you were distracted, you could have really been hurt!"

Sherlock looked at him indignantly as they climbed in the car. "Really, Greg, you should be lecturing me for luring a murderer into my flat and letting him almost succeed rather than about being a woman out at night, and other things I cannot help."

Lestrade sputtered at this. Then realization hit him. "The window. All the other suspects left their windows open, despite the unseasonably cold weather."

"Correct, Lestrade, we may make an inspector out of you yet."

"But how did you know he would come to Baker street?" Greg asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"It was obvious from the locations of the bodies, all on the second floor in a corner apartment on a street starting with B."

Lestrade climbed out of the car and let Sherlock out of the back.

"I don't see why I always have to ride there," she pouted. "It's not like anyone would ever see me riding up front at this hour."

"You know the rules. Besides, Donovan and Anderson would see you. I called them in as back up while I was changing. See, bringing back up is what you do when you are trying to catch a murderer."

Sherlock only smirked, got out of the car and led Lestrade and tired looking Donovan and Anderson up the stairs to her flat. "I see you two arrived together. Only one reason why that would be, seeing as you live at opposite ends of town. Your wife must be lonely tonight, Anderson." She remarked casually, while searching in her purse for the key. He only sputtered in response until Lestrade hushed him, since it was too late for these childish games.

Sherlock opened the door and Lestrade went in ahead of her with his gun pointed in front of him. "Relax, Greg, I told you he was in my bedroom."

Indeed he was, and his face looked worse than Sherlock's. Lestrade couldn't help but be impressed as he cuffed the criminal and read him his rights, then handed him off to Donovan and Anderson. "There. If you two can't stand being apart, why don't you take this guy to the station?"

The detestable duo groaned, but Sherlock noticed with satisfaction that they did not challenge their superior officer and left.

"You know the drill, Sherlock, I have to take pictures of the crime scene, then I will leave you alone for the night."

"Do as you must. I hope you realize that my previous account of the events that occurred here are as official of a statement as you are going to get."

Lestrade just shook his head and went into Sherlock's bedroom to take the photos he needed. She sat down in the window and started playing the violin. Luckily, she was playing it nicely instead of the loud screeching noises she plays when a case goes unsolved for too long. He finished in the bedroom and headed into the bathroom, rather enjoying the music. He was disturbed to see a bloody towel in the sink which she had obviously used to clean her face before she came to fetch him. He worried about the woman because with all the brilliant thoughts running through her mind, she never seemed to be able to spare one for her own well-being.

When he was finished documenting the crime scene, he headed into back into the living room. "Do you mind if I have a cup of tea before I head back Sherlock?" He asked, knowing that she could probably use a cup for herself, but wouldn't bother making one.

"I doubt that I have any." she replied, eyes closed, still playing her violin. "It is illogical for you to go home, Lestrade. Just stay in my spare room upstairs. It is nearly four in the morning and you have to wake up in an hour and a half. With commuting and settling in that only leaves about 45 minutes if you were to go home."

"Thank you," he replied, surprised by her offer. He took a good look around, and noticed that the whole place was rather... spotless. "Sherlock... Is your apartment clean?" He asked, mouth gaping open.

"Brilliant deduction, inspector." She scoffed. "If you must know, Mrs. Hudson's threatened to evict me if I don't find a flatmate soon. Mycroft has decided that he won't supply me with the extra money to pacify her, so I suppose it is my only option."

Lestrade held in a laugh at imagining the mad woman with a flatmate. "Well," he chuckled, "best of luck with that Sherlock." and headed up to her spare room. He collapsed on the bed with a groan and fell asleep to her beautiful classical music within moments.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lestrade woke to an alarm he hadn't set and briefly wondered where he was. It didn't take him too long to recognize the dark walls of Sherlock's spare bedroom. He dragged himself out of bed and spared a melancholy thought for when she had a flatmate and he wouldn't be able to stay there anymore. He had always found her a fascinating person, even before they really knew each other. All he had known was that she was a pretty girl in an unfortunate situation. He didn't know that she would be nearly impossible to help. He put up with her scathing remarks and even her fists at some points (and Sherlock packs a punch) and got her to get clean. In exchange, he gained a valuable colleague and friend. He mused, putting on his shoes and straightening out his clothes as well as possible. He hoped she would find a roommate that would see past her sociopathic act, which Greg knew was just to protect herself from getting hurt, which was completely understandable considering her past experiences.

He headed downstairs and found Sherlock sprawled on the couch. He rolled his eyes as he headed into the kitchen to make tea. "Couldn't even make it to your bed, eh?" he muttered, looking through the cupboards.

Finding nothing but chemicals, he gave up and walked over to the couch, taking a peek at Sherlock. Her face looked worse in the morning light. Her pale skin bruised darkly around her swollen shut eye. Her bottom lip was slightly swollen, and she looked a bit like a pouting child. At twenty seven, she really was no more than a child. He was reminded of when he first met her nine years ago. He had just been hired as a police officer and on his first patrol he had seen her in an alley. Startlingly beautiful, young and unconscious. He called an ambulance and went with her to the hospital, feeling somehow responsible for the lonely girl. She had been beaten and deserted, presumably for the cocaine which was in her system. He had been disappointed when he found out, but after a meeting with Mycroft he wasn't so sure he could resist temptation in such a family. Instead of voicing his disappointment, he made himself available. She came to him, at first, only when there were no other options, but before long she was hanging out with him around crime scenes, and here he learned of her true genius. At the time, he thought he was in love with her, but those feelings soon gave way to a more comfortable familial protectiveness, which was really what they both needed. They were great friends, but they were untraditional enough to keep everyone from prying and making their relationship out to be anything more than it really was.

"S' not polite to stare, L'strade," Sherlock yawned, opening her eyes a crack to see Greg looking down at her from behind the couch.

"You've got nothing edible in your cupboards, Sherlock," He said deflecting his position and voicing his disappointment.

"I know," she said cheekily and rolled over, pulling the blanket more securely around herself.

Greg just rolled his eyes. "Don't make me call Mycroft over here to force feed you like the last time." he threatened, and not emptily.

She shot up at this. "You wouldn't dare. Besides, when Mrs. Hudson sees that the killer was caught on the news she will come bustling in with loads to shove in my face. It hasn't even been that long of a case this time, anyway."

"I know, I know. Just looking after you. You're far too thin, woman."

"Transport, Lestrade."

"I know, Sherlock. See you when you get bored." Greg said, heading towards the door.

"Don't count on it today. I have to go see Max at the mortuary, he says he has some interesting body parts for me to experiment on. Also, I am supposed to meet Mike Stamford for coffee in a bit. Mrs. Hudson called him in on the case to help me find a flatmate. Says he has a few questions for me." she said with a grimace.

"Don't be too harsh on him, now. Anyone willing to help you with something that difficult deserves a medal, I'm telling ya." Greg chuckled, walking out the door.

"Hmph," Sherlock sighed and settled back into the couch.

After only a few minutes, Mrs. Hudson burst through the door. "Are you alright dear? I saw what happened here on the telly!" she exclaimed. "Oh, look at the state of you!" she said once she came into view of Sherlock's mangled face.

"It's nothing Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock growled impatiently. "I must be going, I have to meet Mike Stamford, if you recall."

"Yes, of course, dear.. But have a scone first. I've made some up just the way you like. You look rather peaky, like you haven't eaten in a while," she said with some disapproval.

Sherlock grabbed a scone off of the offered plate and ate it quickly, grabbing another right after. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. If I may, I would like to get dressed now."

"Of course, dear. I'll just be going," she said, sufficiently mollified.

Sherlock threw on a skirt, stockings and her favorite purple blouse. She grabbed her coat and scarf and was off to meet Stamford at the coffee shop. She entered, albeit a little late, and Stamford looked pleased to see her. The man could be irritatingly jovial at times.

"Sherlock, my dear girl, what has happened to your face?" He asked in concern. He had seen her like this plenty of times, but each time he asked even though he knew exactly what had happened.

"Just a case, Mike." She replied, trying to keep her tone polite. She hardly had time to exchange pleasantries while Max was waiting at the lab with fascinating bodies to dissect.

"Really, you must take better care of yourself, Sherly." he said with disapproval. "I'm sure your police inspector friend could protect you from such harm if you only would let him." Sherlock gave him an indignant look and opened her mouth, but Mike, sensing trouble quickly spoke over her, "I've gone ahead and ordered for us both. You take your coffee black with two sugars, do you not? Ah, yes, here the waitress comes. Now," he said, as the waitress put their drinks down in front of them. "what is it that you're looking for in a flatmate?"

"Well, Mike, someone who could stand to live with me would have to be my only condition. And preferably someone who isn't boring." she said. "Also, thanks for meeting me but I'm late for another meeting at St. Bart's." she said, gulping her coffee and heading back out the door.

"Humph. Not that I thought I'd get much more out of her. Mrs. Hudson, you owe me one," Mike muttered under his breath before paying the waitress and heading out for a walk in the park.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers :) I greatly appreciate it. Please enjoy and review!

-bekahbert

Chapter 3

When Sherlock arrived at the mortuary Max was waiting, as expected.

"Hello Sherlock! My, what happened to your face? Oh, right, sorry that I asked, I know you don't like it when I ask... It was a case, wasn't it? Have you iced your eye? It looks very swollen. Sorry, I'm doing it again aren't I?" he said, sheepishly.

"What is it that you wanted to show me in the lab, Max?" Sherlock said, ignoring his nervous little speech. After all, this was hardly the first time he had spoken to her this way. She didn't really understand it, but neither did she care to.

"Well, I just got two bodies in fairly pristine condition. Died of drug overdoses so most of their innards are intact, or at least better than the car wrecks I have been getting you lately. I thought since I didn't have much going on you could just use the lab to do whatever it is that you need to do on them," he said, averting his eyes shyly by the end of his speech.

"Ah, yes, this will be an improvement. Bring me the eyes, I believe I shall start with them."

They worked side by side for a couple of hours, and Max was content. Sherlock stifled a yawn around two- thirty and he jumped up and offered to go get her some coffee.

"Yes, two sugars," she replied flippantly.

While he was gone, Mike Stamford approached the door to the cadaver lab with his old university friend John Watson, who, wouldn't you know it, was looking for a place to stay.

"She's rather eccentric, I must warn you. But you'll never be bored." He said, feeling a little guilty for not fully disclosing Sherlock's particular eccentricity, but he assumed she would do so herself when they walked into the lab.

"Hello, Sherlock. I've got someone I want you to meet. This is John Watson." said Mike. The girl finished writing down her observation, then looked up.

"Why, Mike, you certainly work fast. I assume you are looking for a flatmate, then?" she asked, focusing her piercing grey eyes on John.

"Well yes," He stammered, stunned by the tall pale woman with long dark hair. She was beautiful, but not in the traditional sense of the word. She was a bit too tall, a bit too thin, all sharp angles, but she was captivating, nonetheless. As he stared, a confused look came over her face, but she quickly masked it with a questioning gaze, her head cocked to the side and her eyebrows raised. 'She doesn't know how stunning she is' John thought. "Yes," he said again, clearing his throat. "I am looking for a flatmate. And a flat, for that matter."

"Then I will be with you in a moment. I have data to record. Mike, could I borrow your mobile? Mine doesn't have service down here and I need to send this to Lestrade." she asked.

"Sorry, Sherlock, mine's dead as a doorknob. Always seem to forget to charge it."

"You can use mine," Watson offered, holding it out to her.

She took it and instantly deduced from the step forward he took that the limp he carried the cane for was psychosomatic. But, he had been discharged from military service so he had been injured somewhere. Army doctor, she guessed. Most likely shot in the shoulder, since it would affect his work and there was a slight tremor in his dominant hand which he used to hold the phone out to her. She noticed the scratches on the side, obviously made by a power cord and the engraving, "To Harry, love Clara" and saw that he was disapproving of his brother's alcoholism and possibly the failure of his marriage. He was given the phone, but was further avoiding asking for help by moving out on his own.

"So, Iraq or Afghanistan?" She asked casually, sending Lestrade a quick text about the cold case in which the victim's eyes were destroyed in an acidic solution. From her findings in the lab today it was obviously the sister because only one with access to such a strong solution would have to have been a chemist.

John Watson sputtered, "How'd you know that?"

"Oh Sherlock's just brilliant," said Mike, pleased to see that Watson seemed intrigued rather than annoyed by her habit.

"Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. I am always doing experiments. How do you feel about the violin?" She asked, still looking at Watson's phone.

"Sorry, what was all that?" John asked, baffled.

"Potential flatmates should know the worst of each other." she answered nonchalantly. "If my warnings didn't scare you off, you can meet me at 221 B Baker street tomorrow at noon. I've added the address and my name and phone number to your contacts. Pleased to make your acquaintance," she said, sweeping out of the room and handing him his phone.

In the next moment, poor Max Hooper walked into the room carrying Sherlock's coffee. "Where did she go?" he asked, his voice disappointed.

"I think she is done for the day," said Mike. "Max, this is John Watson. He is an old friend of mine, who is looking into being Sherlock's flatmate.

"Oh, nice to meet you John. Would you care for her coffee since she's not here to drink it?" he offered kindly.

"No thank you Max. Just one question for you two. What is with the bruises on her face? It looks like she was beat terribly and very recently. She isn't with some bloke who does that to her, is she?" John asked.

Mike just chuckled, finding it hard to imagine.

"Oh, no," said Max. "She's a detective, and she got those on the job I'd imagine. And she's not with any bloke, as far as I know." he added.

"Good to know," said John thoughtfully.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Thanks for reading and reviewing! Enjoy this new chapter!

Chapter 4

John didn't really know what to expect as he knocked on the door to 221 B Baker street at noon the next day. Sherlock certainly seemed to be a captivating woman, and definitely strange, but would she make a decent flatmate? Would her eccentricities be too much to bear 24/7?

Sherlock opened the door with a grin and beckoned him in. "This is the place. I've been living here on my own for a while, but the rate's been changed and I'm low on funds. Your bedroom would be upstairs."

He looked around, pleased with what he saw. The rooms were spacious and comfortable. He already felt at home, and he had only been in the room for a minute or two. There were a few questionable things around; the skull on the mantlepiece, the chemistry set on the table and the chemical burns in the carpet raised a few red flags in his mind. But after contemplating for another moment, he said, "When can I move in?"

The look on Sherlock's face was, to John, priceless. She looked completely stunned for a moment before she reigned in her emotions and let a cool smirk color her features. "How about today? I can help you with it, if you like."

"I haven't got much to move, if I'm going to be honest. I can get it all myself, probably in one trip," John confessed.

"See you later, then." Sherlock said.

When John had left, Sherlock sat down on the text and sent a smug text to Greg. "Found a flatmate. Mike has his uses after all."

She was promptly answered with, "Well do your best to keep her. Not a chance you'll find a second one."

Sherlock grimaced. Oh yes, that would be something difficult to explain to everyone. Just flatmates. Co-ed flatmates. "Yes, John Watson is an anomaly for agreeing to move in."

Sherlock imagined Lestrade's eyes growing large in that annoyingly surprised way for a few seconds, then narrowing in suspicion (in an equally irritating manner).

"I'll be right over." he replied, causing Sherlock to roll her eyes and smirk.

"I'll just have Mrs. Hudson put the kettle on, then." she replied.

"As if you could be bothered." Lestrade scoffed.

* * *

John was beyond thrilled as he packed his meager belongings into his army-issue duffel bag. He wasn't sure what exactly made him agree to move in with someone after only a moment of deliberation, but he did know that the air in the flat was alight with excitement. Besides, anywhere had to be better than here, and he wasn't tied down, he could leave easily if things weren't working out.

Somehow, he didn't think that would be necessary.

* * *

Lestrade arrived at the flat about ten minutes after sending his warning to Sherlock.

"You didn't waste any time, did you?" she scowled after letting him in.

"I knew you wouldn't make tea," he replied with a wolfish grin.

She just huffed and went to play the violin in the window.

"Sherlock, are you trying to scare your flatmate away already?" Lestrade asked in mock concern.

"You didn't seem to mind my performances last night, Lestrade." Sherlock replied.

"No that was great. But, your compositions can be a little, er, progressive."

Sherlock frowned and slowly lowered the violin back onto the stand. Lestrade felt a bit guilty about this, even though it was the truth. Before he could apologize however, there was a knock at the door. Sherlock answered and let in John Watson, who was carrying a large, overstuffed duffel bag.

"See?" he said with a smile. "I knew it wouldn't take me long. I haven't been back in London long enough to accumulate very many possessions."

Watson turned his head and noticed Greg.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Sherlock, is this your boyfriend? John Watson," he said and held out his hand for Greg to shake.

Lestrade's first impression of Watson was pretty good. He seemed to be an upbeat individual, and Lord knows Sherlock needs some optimism in her life. He didn't however like how crestfallen the man looked when he drew the conclusion that Lestrade was Sherlock's boyfriend. It was because of this he answered, "Detective inspector Gregory Lestrade. Sherlock's colleague and friend," with more menacing a tone than was strictly necessary.

John realized that he was being threatened with Lestrade's full title, but did not react. Instead, he said, "Pleased to make your acquaintance," with a wry grin.

He passed the test. "Yeah, glad to meet you too. Listen, I've gotta get out of here. Oi, Sherlock?"

"Yes, Lestrade?" she asked, clearly annoyed by his little stunt even if John was going to let him off the hook.

"Did you tell Mycroft yet?"

A look of horror and loathing spread across Sherlock's face. "I've not had the pleasure of doing so," she spat.

Greg began to laugh, and walked over to John, "Good luck with that one, mate," he chuckled, clapping John on the shoulder on the way out the door.

"So, who is this Mycroft, if I may ask?" John asked, honestly curious.

"My arch enemy." Sherlock said, showing him up to his room.


End file.
